A PROMISE OF UNINHIBITED STROKES

This is a deeply private note; I had written it to myself as a reminder, as I am wont to do.
But deeply private things are also often unsurprisingly universal in nature. I almost know that there are many others who have felt this way. 

This note helped take my painting practice to a different level than it was at. And I suspect it can do so for any practice that originates from the deepest recesses of our being.

One day, seemingly out of nowhere, I made a promise to myself. I don't know why it was so potent. I don't morally think too ill about breaking promises, if I'm to be brutally honest. If the situation changes, your stand on it can change too. Being authentic seems like a more worthy goal than empty declarations.

But this promise to myself, it felt sacrosanct. Somewhere mid-painting, I suddenly felt that allowing myself to paint absolutely freely is the biggest gift I could give to the child in me. Not imposing adult rules on her- I promised myself I will do this much for her. That poor child that was so misunderstood, so unheard, unseen. Childhood was an incredibly alienating experience for me; not agreeing with or liking anything the adults were saying and as a result feeling deeply flawed and alone.

She deserves this glory of exploration that painting freely will bring. She deserves to know there was nothing wrong with her, and that in fact, all the things that she was convinced were wrong with her, were actually tools in her arsenal to view the world better.

*Go you emotional child, you curious truthseeker. You with the unhinged dreams, you absolute fool. Chasing beauty and challenging mindsets. You deserve this, child. And I will not dampen your spirit like those absolute buffoons who cared not about the essence of life, but about appearances. I will not be that person to you, child; concerned about superficialities.*

The moment I had this thought, i felt some sort of change within me. Whether it is true or imagined one can never say, but I felt like all of a sudden, a part of me felt at ease. Like I released a breath long held. The painter in me felt more confident. More relaxed, and notably more secure.

Now whenever I catch myself getting too precious about my work, I remind myself not to be like the adults I so hated growing up. The ones concerned about image and society and a variety of surface level things. Don't be that person Richa. The child in you deserves better.

I have a feeling this might be the most important insight I have had about painting so far.